Chasing Hannah by Melissa Ellen

Author:Melissa Ellen [Ellen, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Honey Bee Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-06-20T16:00:00+00:00

10

HANNAH

“Hannah?! Hannah, dear, you still out there?”

I lobbed my head backwards, rolling my eyes toward the ceiling. Of course I was still here. Where else would I be?

“One minute, Mrs. Fitzgerald!” I hollered from the cashier counter, where I’d been hunkered over my laptop submitting my resume to another potential employer.

I already knew what she wanted: whatever she was trying on this morning in another size. The seventy-year-old woman came into the store at least once a day, always picking out clothes entirely too small for her to try on. I didn’t know if her eyes were so bad that she couldn’t read the labels, or if she just thought she was smaller than she was. Either way, she had me constantly running back and forth between the racks and dressing rooms for at least an hour a day every day. To top it all off, she rarely bought anything.

I snapped my laptop shut with a sigh after finally hitting send. It was my final resume to submit. There were only a handful of jobs available unless I decided to relocate. Leaving Seattle wasn’t something I wanted to do. I loved the city, had lived there my whole life, but at the end of the day I had to make a living.

The front door of the shop opened, and Leighton came strolling through with an exhausted look on her face and two iced coffees from Ida’s in hand. It’d become a ritual for her to show up here after she got off work, bringing me my afternoon cup of iced coffee.

“Hey. Thanks, I’ve been craving one of these,” I said, taking the cup she offered to me. I took a long sip of the much-needed caffeine before asking, “What’s going on?”

“Remind me again why I chose this profession.” She sagged against the front of the counter, taking a drink of her own.

“Um…because you have a heart of gold and love all those adorable little faces?”

“Right. That.”

“Hang in there. It’s your last week and then you’ll have the summer to recoup.”

“Hannah!” the impatient old woman called again.

“Coming!” I yelled, fighting back my annoyance and plastering on a smile.

Leighton smirked.

“And you thought you have it bad,” I grumbled, waltzing over to the wall where Tucker had built Lottie a bank of dressing rooms with pipe fittings draped with thick white curtains. He’d done a beautiful job building out a rustic modern space for her boutique—a combination of brick, wood, and metal, softened by the clothes she displayed and the chandeliers above.

Mrs. Fitzgerald pushed aside the curtain, stepping out of the fitting room she was in. I about tripped over my own two feet when she did, my eyes wide as I covered my mouth with a hand to hide the shock on my face.

“Oh, dear lord,” Leighton muttered, coming up beside me. “You definitely have it worse than me. I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to un-see this.”

That made two of us. I’d be glad when I was back to making trips to Milan and New York instead of working in Mulletsville.

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